


(Let me) be your safety.

by gyufan2303



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shadowhunters, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Warlock! Imayoshi, and imayoshi is a warlock, insecure Kasamatsu, just know that kasamatsu hunts demons, may be ooc, rating mainly for language, shadow hunter! Kasamatsu, you don't have to have read the mortal instruments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyufan2303/pseuds/gyufan2303
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Darling, you look radiant this morning! Well, I’m sure you would if you weren’t covered in demon guts.” The warlock grimaces. “I do wish you would stop coming to me in such a state, my neighbours find it unseemly. Although,” he leers, reaching out to wipe a lock of Yukio’s hair back from his forehead, “I’m always happy to shower with you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Let me) be your safety.

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: I have this absolutely crazy and ridiculous idea of a crossover fic where Imayoshi is a warlock and Kasamatsu is a shadowhunter. In Japan, faraway from all the craziness, but still…

Yukio pounds on the obnoxiously ornate stone door with a vengeance, ignoring the scrapes on fist. It opens obnoxiously slowly to reveal Imayoshi in all his obnoxious glory. In just a pair of painfully tight jeans. Yukio’s mouth does _not_ go dry.

“Darling, you look radiant this morning! Well, I’m sure you would if you weren’t covered in demon guts.” The warlock grimaces. “I do wish you would stop coming to me in such a state, my neighbours find it unseemly. Although,” he leers, reaching out to wipe a lock of Yukio’s hair back from his forehead, “I’m always happy to shower with you.”

Yukio smacks the hand away. “If you don’t stop fucking with my hunting, I’ll have you arrested.” Imayoshi smiles indulgently and moves aside to let him in, gently closing the door after him.

Enough is enough. This infuriating, pain in the ass warlock keeps showing up at his hunts and blasting his demons to smithereens before he can even invoke his blades and apparating away before Yukio can confront him and tell him to _knock it the fuck off_. It needs to stop. He’s become a laughing stock, the entire Kaijou institute is in stiches over the situation. The brats visiting from Touou actually had the nerve to ask if he was paying someone to help increase his kill rate. He has to shut this down before Takeuchi catches wind of it.

Imayoshi smirks, wiping a smear on Yukio’s cheek and he barely manages not to flinch.

“What were you doing out without a partner, darling?” The fingers feel cool against Yukio’s cheek. “You’re barely an adult. It’s a little early to start working on your death wish, no? Leave the stupidity to the elders in your godforsaken race.”

“I could’ve handled it!” He snaps. “It was just a stupid Moloch demon, not fucking Abadon.” He wishes Imayoshi would stop staring at him, stop making him feel so young under this scrutiny.

“Yukio.” All traces of mirth are gone from Imayoshi’s face. The hand is now tightly gripping the side of his neck. “You’re exhausted. You’re going to slip up and get killed. I’m not going to let that happen.”

“You promised,” he says through clenched teeth. “You promised you wouldn’t interfere with my shadowhunter duties.”

“And I thought that I could keep that promise. Before I realised how unbelievably stupid you can be.” Yukio snarls and pushes him back, hard. Imayoshi looks affronted for a moment, before snapping his fingers. Suddenly Yukio’s hands are bound in front of him, with fabric that feels suspiciously like the sash of Imayoshi’s favourite black robe. His whole body burns with humiliation, at being tied up like a wayward child.

“Now, let’s discuss this like civilised adults.”

“Using magic to restrain me. You’re breaking another promise. If you respect me so little, I’m wasting my time here,” he mutters, looking at his feet. He ignores Imayoshi’s sharp intake of breath.

There’s painful silence for a few seconds before the sash loosens and falls to the ground. He walks out and Imayoshi doesn’t say a word as he leaves.

He doesn’t bother trying to sleep that night, can’t bring himself to try and face the nightmares. He wants to run back to Imayoshi’s apartment, get on his knees, and beg for Imayoshi to take him back. He hates himself for wanting that. This _thing_ they have (had), this tentative relationship where Imayoshi challenges him, infuriates him, makes him feel safe and happy for a few hours when they can both spare it, is irrationally dear to him. He feels sick, thinking about what he said. He knows he was right – Imayoshi crossed boundaries and needed a sharp reminder that Yukio’s not his pet (although he’s not really sure what he is to Imayoshi. Boyfriend? Lover? Exotic shadowhunter fucktoy?), but he doesn’t want them to stop altogether. It’s disturbing, how easily he’s ready to forgive Imayoshi, despite how angry he’s been the past few weeks, but he’s too tired to care.

Just past two, his phone pings with a text. He checks it with his heart thudding.

 _I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I want to apologise in person. Will you come see me tomorrow?_  - _I.S._

It’s devoid of any teasing or mocking or blush-inducing sex jokes, which isn’t a good sign. Yukio doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to go to Imayoshi’s apartment tomorrow and collect his things to bring back to the Institute. He doesn’t want to never kiss Imayoshi again.

He puts on some proper clothes and grabs his stele.

 

Yukio’s too tired to pound on the door this time. He knocks quietly, half hoping Imayoshi isn’t awake. He is, of course. He’s frowning and his glasses are askew when he answers the door, wordlessly stepping aside to let Yukio in. The apartment holds a lot of special memories for Yukio, a place where he’s experienced many firsts, a place where he’s felt. Safe. In a way that the Institute could never be. He’s going to miss it.

“I don’t want to break up,” he says quietly. “You fucked up, and I’m angry at you but if you’re not sick of me, I want to still... be with you.”

Imayoshi gapes at him.

“What do you mean sick of you?” he spits, reaching out to hold Yukio’s face in his hands. The fingers are as refreshingly cool as ever, Yukio wants to be touched by them _all the time._ “I’m terribly fond of you, you stupid nephilim brat,” he says more softly, stroking Yukio’s cheekbones with his thumbs. “I just want you to realise you’re not invincible. You’re _breakable._ I don’t want to see you break.”

Yukio’s can’t look him in the eye. “Would you stand by me while I put myself back together?” he whispers. His face crumples when he realises what he’s just said. The stinging in his eyes is just his imagination, it has to be. Imayoshi likes him because he’s strong, resilient. That’s why he’s the leader of their institute squad, why all his juniors respect him, why all the adults trust him. Imayoshi doesn’t want the pathetic person he is right now.

He starts when Imayoshi roughly pulls him into his arms, holding his head to his chest with one hand while the other arm is tight around his waist.

“Tell me what’s bothering you, Yukio. Tell me what’s keeping you up at night, why you’re pushing yourself so hard. What’s making you so miserable.” He kisses Yukio’s forehead. “I’ll get rid of it. I can snap my fingers and make it disappear, tear down any obstacle in your path, just this _once_ let me help you.”

Yukio clutches at the back of Imayoshi’s shirt, pressing himself closer to the warlock’s body. He loses the fight with his tears. They soak into Imayoshi’s shirt.

“Darling, please.”

“ _Stop that._ Stop mocking me, I can’t handle it right now.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Imayoshi growls. “I care about you, I’ve proven it to you over and over and I’ll keep proving it to you till you believe me.”

“The nightmares,” Yukio chokes out. “Demons attack me and my friends just watch, watch as I get ripped apart. My parents look so disappointed. You’re laughing as I’m screaming.” His head is pounding. “I have to keep killing. I have to prove to myself that I can do it alone because I _don’t know_ if anyone’s going to have my back.”

Imayoshi’s grip in his hair is painfully tight. “I’ll save you. Every time, I’ll save you.”

This is so stupid, none of these people have _ever_ given him reason to believe they wouldn’t lay down their lives for him. He doesn’t know where these insecurities are coming from. All of his friends have told him so many times ‘ _You’re not alone, Kasamatsu. You don’t have to carry this burden alone._ ’

He takes a deep, shaky breath before slowly stepping out of Imayoshi’s arms.

“I’m sorry for waking you. And getting your shirt dirty.”

Imayoshi leers and said garment disappears, leaving Yukio staring at a bare, tattooed torso.

“You know I’ll get naked for you any time, darling.”

Yukio glares. “Shut the fuck up, you fucking jackass.”

“Careful, darling,” the warlock teases, sliding his arms back around Yukio’s waist. “You know how your temper makes me want to do filthy things to you.” And of course, Imayoshi is incapable of maintaining a serious conversation for more than a few minutes. He can’t, however, say the change of topic is unwelcome.

Yukio shuts him up in the most efficient way – by throwing his arms around Imayoshi’s shoulders and slamming their mouths together. He hopes the glasses get broken while they kiss.

“I’ll show you filthy, you pompous fuckface,” he pants when he can bring himself to break away.  

“Hmm, I do love to fuck your pretty face.”

Yukio goes to bed sore and wrung out in the most satisfying ways. For the first time in months, he doesn’t have nightmares. He’s still not sure about what this relationship is, where it’s going to lead, if they have _any_ kind of future but he’s prepared to stick around and find out.


End file.
